


The Great Sacred Bird is Reborn

by ErosVenus



Category: Miss Saigon - Schönberg/Boublil/Maltby
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Asian Character(s), Asian-American Character, Drama, Family, Family Drama, Food, Inspired by Miss Saigon, Mental Health Issues, Musical, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tiếng Việt | Vietnamese, Tragedy, Vietnam War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23876578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErosVenus/pseuds/ErosVenus
Summary: A 3-Part One Off Short Story Miss Saigon Fanfic.  Twenty five year old Thomas "Tam" Scott attends culinary school and hopes to win a coveted spot as a sous-chef for a major Asian restaurant.  However, he lacks the passion in his cooking.  Upon the suggestion of his teacher, he gets in touch with his Vietnamese roots by agreeing to intern at an eatery within the community.  Taken in by a woman connected to his mother's past, he learns to appreciate his heritage while struggling to deal with his own personal family drama. The aftermath of the Vietnam War has not concluded for his father, Christopher Scott, who struggles with PTSD and alcoholism and his son must understand his struggles to find his own sense of closure.
Relationships: Chris/Ellen (Miss Saigon), Chris/Kim (Miss Saigon), Ellen/Tam (Miss Saigon), Gigi Van Tran/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. Welcome to Dreamland

Asian Culinary Arts Institute  
New York City  
2000

[ ](https://postimages.org/)

“Chef Wan, I prepared a common Korean dish of beef bulgogi, served on top of jasmine rice with a side of fresh kimchi.”

Thomas “Tam” Scott could feel the beads of perspiration on his forehead. He hoped Chef Phillip Wan enjoyed the meal that he made. As the top student in the class, Thomas or Tom, as he preferred to be called by his nickname, wanted to maintain his position and possibly secure a permanent spot as one of Chef Wan’s sous-chefs for one of his many fine dining establishments. Its sure beats being a kitchen prep cook for minimum wage.

Chef Wan savored the meal and grinned. “Very good, Scott. Well done.” Tom smiled in relief as he watched him go down the line of cooking students, who eagerly awaited feedback from the instructor. They too also looked nervous.

Once the dishes were tasted and Chef Wan gave his reviews, the teacher addressed the students.

“Many of you have done very well,” he began, gesturing to Tom. The he turned to a couple down the line. “A few of you still need improvement. Hopefully, this will motivate you for your final project next month. Your final exam will consist of a five-course meal, Asian style, which must include an appetizer, main entrée of your choosing, and dessert. You will be graded on ingredients, flavor profile, and presentation. The person with the highest points will win a coveted sou-chef position at one of my restaurants. Think about it.” He teased. “You’ll be working while finishing up school.”

Whispers and murmurs drifted through the class. Typically cooking internships were unpaid voluntary services, but to already be given a high-ranking job at a Michelin Five-Star restaurant seemed like a dream. All of them wanted the coveted spot.

“I would suggest that you start thinking about your recipes,” Chef Wan announced. “Class dismissed.” Excited, the cooking students emptied out of the kitchen classroom. Tom began packing up his things before the instructor called out his name. “Thomas Scott? Can I speak to you in private?”

Gently setting down his backpack filled with notes and recipes, he approached Chef Wan at his desk.

“Yes Chef?” The twenty-five-year-old greeted his teacher. “You wanted to see me?”

“Have a seat,” the instructor pointed to a stool nearby. Tom grabbed it and sat down. “Tell me about yourself, Thomas.” Chef Wan prodded, folding his arms while leaning against the desk.

Tom gulped, not anticipating this to be an interview. He gained his composure and spoke up. “Well, my name is Thomas Scott, but I go by Tom. I grew up in Atlanta, Georgia.”

“That certainly explains the dialect,” Chef Wan remarked. “You certainly don’t look a southerner.”

Tom’s appearance gave it away. Despite his prominent Eurasian features, there was no denying the dark eyes, black hair and light tan skin. He certainly could not pass as a good ol’ southern boy. There was no mistaken that he had Asian blood in him. A conflict that Tom had since he was little, especially from the ignorance of his peers and community. He always felt torn between the two worlds. Thank goodness, he decided to go to school outside the state and move as far away as possible.

“Pardon my rudeness, but what is your background?”

His question took Tom by surprise. He never had a professional ask him such a sensitive question, but he realized he had to play the game. He inhaled. “If you’re asking about my ethnicity. I’m American on my father’s side and Vietnamese from my biological mother. My father was a G. I. during the Vietnam War, where he met my mother and married her. She died when I was born. When the fall of Saigon happened, my father took me to America with him and we settled in Atlanta, Georgia. I’ve lived there ever since.”

“Interesting,” Chef Wan tapped his chin. “What led to you to specialize in Asian cooking?”

Tom nervously shrugged. “I don’t know. I went to NYU for business and got my bachelors, but I spent one semester studying abroad in Seoul and fell in love with the culture and the food. I guess that inspired me to want to try cooking school for my career path.”

The instructor grinned. “I can understand that. I grew up in San Francisco and didn’t know what I wanted to do in life. One trip to Taiwan inspired me to travel the world and learn about Asian dishes and now look at me! I own ten five-star Asian restaurants in New York!”

“I’ll be lucky if I ever get to open one,” Tom remarked.

“That is why I want to help you!” Chef Wan grinned, giving him some reassurance. “You have potential, Tom Scott. I see it in you, compared to the other students in my class who seem to burn boiling water. You have skills and the talent to be a great sous-chef but you’re wasting your time peeling potatoes and prepping vegetables at my restaurant!”

“You know I work for you?” Tom’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Of course, I do,” Chef Wan laughed. “I know all about my employees in all my restaurants, even the bad ones. You can’t be successful in the restaurant industry without being involved in the daily workings.” He nodded to Tom. “I see you working hard in my kitchen and going to school here at the institute trying to fulfill your dreams of being a chef, but you lack one thing.”

“What is that?” Tom asked his teacher, listening to him intently.

“Passion,” the chef replied bluntly. “You follow the basic ingredients, but your heart isn’t in it. You don’t cook with your entire being and that is why the soul is important to making, a successful delicious dish.”

Tom exhaled. “Then what do you suggest?”

“I want you to get some training in your own culture’s food,” he suggested to the young man. “It’ll give you sense of identity and reconnect you with your homeland. Though you’re competent in Korean cooking, it is not where your heart is. It will be a great challenge for you, and I think it will benefit you in the end.”

Tom flinched. “You want me to go to Vietnam?”

Chef Wan guffawed. “No, Tom Scott. Asian cuisine is changing the world in the way we see burgeoning flavors. In the next few years, we’ll be seeing a boom in the mainstream public’s perception to trying other Asian dishes than your average Chinese fried rice and egg rolls. Japanese, Korean, Filipino, Thai, Indian and soon Vietnam will be topping that list. I’ve been introducing these international dishes on my menu for years. Hence, that is why I’m successful. I want you to promote the appeal of Vietnamese cuisine.”

“But I don’t know anything about Vietnam or Vietnamese food!” The young man argued. “I don’t know where to begin.”

His teacher smiled. “That is why I’m pulling in a favor. Down in Little Saigon, there is a tiny restaurant called The Great Sacred Bird. The owner’s name is Lien Minh Wilson. She is willing to give you a paid internship for one month to teach you some of her most basic and popular dishes. I want you to learn them and submit that as your final exam next month. Do you agree to do this?”

Apprehensive and unsure, Tom reluctantly agreed. “Sure, I guess.”

“Then, it’s settled.” Chef Wan pulled out his wallet to retrieve a business card. He handed it to Tom. “Call her at that number and make the arrangements.” Tucking his wallet back into his pocket, he stood up from the desk. “I think this experience, Thomas Scott, will be beneficial and advantageous for you!”

“I hope so,” the twenty-five-year-old mumbled. He grabbed his backpack and headed out of the classroom.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tom’s Apartment  
Brooklyn, New York

Renting an affordable apartment in New York City has always been an issue for most of its residents, but somehow his girlfriend and him managed to find one that was rent controlled and inexpensive, near the heart of Brooklyn. With its neighborhood charm of the local bodegas, retail stores, and food carts, the third-floor walkway of their tiny abode, served as the perfect home for the couple.

A smell of tomato sauce and garlic bread filled the room the moment Tom opened the front door.

“Penne pasta with Italian sausage!” His girlfriend, Keisha, announced from their kitchen. “Dinner will be ready soon! Go wash up, babe!”

Tom retreated to the bathroom to change out of his chef’s uniform and into a t-shirt and jeans. After washing his hands, he sat down at the dining table as Keisha began placing the pasta, garlic bread, and salad in front of him. Pouring a bottle of red wine in each of their glasses, she sat down to join Tom and soon they began to enjoy their meal together.

“Delicious,” he commented on her cooking. He dug his fork into the pasta and shoved it into his mouth.

Keisha sipped her wined. “Maybe not as good as your cooking, but I think I did okay.” Still in her nursing scrubs, the twenty-three-year-old African American woman worked for New York Children’s Hospital and usually worked the graveyard shift, but today she got lucky and was given morning duty. This gave her an opportunity to spend some quality time with her boyfriend.

“How was school?” She asked him, noticing something preoccupying his mind.

“I aced my assignment today,” Tom revealed. “But Chef Wan is giving a me a special project for my final exam next month.”

Keisha smiled. “That’s great! You’ve been trying to get in good with Chef Wan so at least you’re on his radar!”

Ever since they met at NYU, Keisha and Tom had been going strong for five years to the point that both their families made predictions of when they were going to tie the knot. So far, another year had gone by and still no engagement ring. To their defense, the couple argued they were still not ready. Both sides still held out hope.

“I know,” Tom responded to his girlfriend’s words of encouragement. He loved that about her even after he made the decision to forgo his master’s degree in business and follow his dream to attend culinary school. She supported his decision even now.

“What does he want you to do?” She questioned him.

Tom exhaled. “He wants me to get in touch with my roots. He’s offering a paid internship with a friend of his for a month to learn Vietnamese cuisine.”

“Oh.” Keisha touched her chest. She knew that his biological mother’s Vietnamese heritage was a sore spot for him. He had completely erased any sense of his cultural identity and adapted to only being a red-blooded American citizen. This contradicted his beliefs when he began studying Asian cooking, namely, Korean food.

“What do you think?” Her boyfriend prodded, looking for advice. “Do you think I should do it?”

She tilted her head to think. “I think you should do it. I know you deny that part of yourself because you blame her for abandoning you when she died. I think it will help you understand who she was and where she came from. It’ll give you that sense of closure.”

Leaning back in his chair, he sighed. “You’re right. It’s not fair to fault her for dying in childbirth. My dad took me to America for a better life. I grew up with an amazing stepmother who became my mom and a younger half-sister who loves me. I shouldn’t complain. Maybe, this will be a good learning experience for me.”

“I think it will,” Keisha responded, giving a positive spin on the situation. Suddenly, the phone rang. Getting out of her seat, she went to the wall phone and picked it up. “Hello?” Panicked words echoed in her ear. “Hold on a minute.” She turned to Tom with a worried look on her face. “It’s your sister, Julie!”

Tom got up from his chair and took the phone from Keisha. He answered nervously. “Julie? What’s the matter?”

“It’s Mom,” his sibling said on the other line. “She’s been hurt! You need to come home to Atlanta now!”

Quickly, finishing his conversation with his sibling, he hung up the phone and explained his family emergency to Keisha. His girlfriend agreed that he needed to go and pulled out the phone book to make a last-minute flight reservation to Atlanta, Georgia. Luckily, he booked a one-way ticket. Packing a quick bag, he kissed Keisha goodbye and headed for the airport.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Atlanta, Georgia

The nonstop one-way flight took about two hours. Upon leaving Hartsfield-Jackson Airport, he rented a car and drove to Alpharetta. It was late in the evening but despite being tired and exhausted, got to his neighborhood to see the porch lights on of his family home.

He rang the doorbell, only to see the pale face of his sister, Julie, looking worried and scared. She hugged him the moment she answered the door.

“I’m so glad you came!” She said, her eyes looking tense. She let him inside and folded her hands in front of him. At twenty, the pretty blonde college student usually was bubbly and outgoing. It helped at that she was going to a university in California where she enjoyed the nice sunny weather and beautiful beaches. Now this person facing him, appeared concerned and distressed, traits that he had not seen in her for a while.

“Where’s Mom?” Tom asked his sibling.

“In her bedroom,” Julie whispered. “I have to warn you. She doesn’t look good.”

Tom put his overnight bag down on the floor and started for the hallway. Julie touched his arm to warn him before entering.

“Just don’t lose your cool,” his sister warned. “Be sensitive. Please, Tom stay calm.”

Unsure of what to expect and afraid for their mother, he nodded and knocked on the bedroom door.

“Come in.” A meek voice answered.

Slowly opening the door, he noticed the area fully dark. A figure in a robe sat on the bed, shadowed by the blackness of the room. He could hear sobbing. Quickly he switched on the light nearby.

There sat his mother, Ellen Scott, weeping with a gnarled tissue in her hand while she looked away from him. Dabbing the tears from her hands, she finally turned to face him. What he saw shocked him to the core. Her right eye displayed a huge purple bruise, while a large red mark appeared on her left cheek. Underneath both wounds, she sported a cut on her bottom lip as her top mouth started to puff up. Seeing her son noticing her face, she began to cover it with her hands.

“Mom!” Tom gasped, attempting repress the anger inside of himself. “Did Dad do this?”

He took a seat on the bed next to her and put his arm around her. She cried into his shoulder, wetting the tears on his shirt.

“He’s been drinking heavily this time,” she sobbed. “The nightmares are getting progressively worse when he does. He hit me and pushed me down!”  
Hearing this, Tom bit his lip. “Has he ever hit you before?”

Ellen shook her head. “He usually goes through his tantrums when he rages and throws things, but he’s never hit me or touched me! This is the first time! I don’t know what to do!”

Tom didn’t either. The aftermath of the Vietnam War affected many veterans, resulting in psychological and emotional issues that made it difficult for former soldiers to adapt to civilian life. The original term for it was shell shock, but it was later diagnosed with an even larger term, PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder. Sergeant Christopher Scott was among the many military patients who suffered from this epidemic and even though treatments like therapy and medication were available, his father refused to seek help. Instead, he spent his days finding answers at the bottom of a bottle.

Not a day went by in his childhood where he didn’t witness his father’s alcoholic rages. Though his mother shielded him and his younger sister, Julie, from Chris’s tantrums, the former soldier never once turned violent and turned his anxieties and aggression on him, his sister, or his mother, until today.

“His PTSD is getting worse,” said Julie standing in the doorway of their mother’s bedroom. “Dad refuses to seek help. I threatened to call the police the moment he punched Mom. He got into his car, completely drunk, and took off.”

Ellen wept again, lifting her face to stand look and herself in the mirror. Back in her day, she was a pretty, blonde woman with intelligence who matched wits with her male counterparts while working in a male dominated field of corporate accounting. That is probably what attracted Chris Scott to her. He finally met someone who challenged him and didn’t take his nonsense. Now middle aged with wrinkles and streaks of gray in her blonde hair, she resided to be an ordinary housewife raising two kids and while trying to support an alcoholic husband with mental health issues. How far had she fallen?

Tom placed both hands to her shoulders to comfort her.  
“It’s not your fault,” he told her, still angry at his father. “Dad has lost all sense of reality.”

Ellen wiped her eyes and inhaled. “I know, but I tried everything to be supportive. I guess his demons are way too strong.” She placed her hands to both sides of Tom’s face. “I want you to know something, Thomas!” Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t blame you! I never hated you! When your mother died and your Dad took you to America, I had to get over all my jealousies because you needed me. You needed a mother! The moment I held you in my arms, I knew you were mine! You were my child! I love you and nothing is going to change that!”

Her sobs drenched his shoulder as he held her close.  
“I know, Mom.” He whispered to her. “I love you, too.” He grabbed a tissue on the nightstand and handed it to her. She wiped her bruised face as he gently spoke to her. “Mom, I need for you to stay with me and Keisha for a few weeks in New York. Then, we can figure out things from there.”

“I can’t,” his mother shook her head. “What about Julie, your father? I can’t leave your father alone when he’s like this!”

“Dad can fend for himself,” Tom emphasized, still suppressing the rage. “Right now, I don’t care what happens to him. My concern is you!”

Julie jumped in. “Don’t worry, Mom. I have friends in town I can stay with for the week. My spring break will be over soon, and I’ll be flying back to California for school.”  
“Pack a bag,” Tom instructed his mother. “We’ll take a flight out tomorrow.”

Helpless and confused, Ellen needed assistance with gathering things for her suitcase. Julie helped their mother with the essentials that she’ll need for New York, while Tom scrambled for flights on the kitchen telephone. He successfully booked pair of one-way tickets. Soon they would be flying out of Atlanta and out of the wrath of Christopher Scott.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tom’s Apartment  
Brooklyn, New York

“Thank you for putting me up,” Ellen hugged Keisha. She removed her sunglasses to reveal the bruises and cuts on her face, making Tom’s girlfriend very sympathetic to her plight.

“It’s no trouble,” Keisha smiled. “You’ll stay in our room while Tom and I take the sofa.” She helped her with her bags as she led Ellen inside the bedroom. “Let me know if there is anything you need.” She told Ellen, leaving Tom’s mother alone to unpack.

Tom stared out the window of their apartment to look at the busy people below, simply living their lives. He wondered about the families being abused, the mothers and children being hurt, while the world turns a blind eye and continues with their mundane existence. He exhaled.

From behind him, Keisha wrapped her arms around his chest and grinned. “You did a good thing. Bringing your mother here and keeping her safe. That is what a good son does.”

Tom inhaled, shifted his face to kiss her cheek. “A good son also tries to save his family. Namely, his father.”

He released himself from his girlfriend’s embrace and walked away from the window.

Keisha put her hands to her hips. “You can’t feel guilty for your father’s mistakes. Your family has tried to help him with his PTSD and his alcoholism, and he refuses treatment for both. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved!”

“I know,” her boyfriend whispered. “But I still hold hope that he’s worth trying for.”

The wall phone rang. Tom paused his conversation with Keisha to answer it. “Hello?”

“Tom, this is your Uncle John.” The other caller greeted. John Thomas, a former African American G. I. and close friend of the family, retired from the military and began working for a non-profit organization to help locate abandoned children left behind by their American fathers in Vietnam. He and the Scotts have been close friends for years.  
“What’s going on Uncle John,” Tom answered politely.

“It’s your Dad,” John sighed. “He’s not doing good. He got picked up for a DUI and got put in jail. I just bailed him out this morning. He keeps asking where Ellen is. He wants to talk to her. Julie refuses to see him and you’re the only one that might know where she is.”

Anger bubbled up inside him. He now couldn’t control himself. “Tell him, I don’t! And let him know the next time he wants to screw up a family by beating up his wife, then he should stay in jail!” He angrily slammed down the phone.

Keisha embraced him to comfort him. Tom could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. How could their idyllic American family become so messed up?

Ellen quietly came out her son’s bedroom. “I heard. I guess your father is looking for me.” She said sadly.

Tom wiped his eyes. “I honestly don’t care, Mom! He’s not going anywhere near you!”

Keisha decided to jump in and lift everyone’s spirits. “Look, let’s not dwell on all this gloom and doom. Your mom’s in New York. I have the day off tomorrow. I say we make it a girl’s day out. We can go see the sites, eat some food, maybe take in a Broadway show?”

His mother managed to pull up a smile. “I’d like that.”

“Then it’s settled,” Keisha clapped her hands. “Girls’ Day Out tomorrow!”

Ellen looked at her son. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m setting up a paid internship at a restaurant,” he explained. “I could use the distraction.”

“That’s wonderful, honey,” his mother grinned, kissing his cheek. “I think this chef’s career is truly what you need to be doing. I’m happy that you’re following your dream.”

“Me too, Mom,” said Tom. “Me too.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Great Sacred Bird  
Little Saigon, New York

Tom took the subway down and made his way to Little Saigon. Busy with Asian customers and locals, Vietnamese he assumed, he located the establishment. From the outside, the restaurant looked a bit run down from its faded architecture and dirty sign, he had to double check the business card to ensure he had the right address.

“Allez, allez, allez!” A greasy, short balding man waved at him from the front entrance. He appeared to be in his late sixties, wearing a dirty button-down shirt, and worn out old slacks. “You want smoke? I got carton here!” He took a box from behind the waistband of his pants. “Only ten dollar!”

Tom shook his head. “No, but I’m wondering if this is the right place. The Great Sacred Bird?”

“Le Ingenieur! Don’t bother customer! Take trash to dumpster now!”

The greasy man angrily stomped his feet and went back inside the entrance. An older woman, in her late fifties appeared. Zoftig in appearance, her distinguished wrinkles once showcased an exotic beauty, but years of hardship showed through her now graying, black hair and shallow eyes. She smiled and greeted the young man.

“Can I help you? Do you want table?”

“Actually,” Tom began. “I’ve been told to meet the owner. Lien Minh Wilson?”

[ ](https://postimages.org/)

“Ah!” The older woman clapped her hands. “That me! You be Thomas Scott?”

“Yes,” Tom extended his hand to which the owner happily shook it.

Lien Minh pulled him by the hand and dragged him inside. “Come in. Busy. Many customer!”

To Tom’s surprise, she was right. For a simple hole in the wall, the place was packed with patrons. He looked around to see some dusty cultural décor from Buddha figures, old Vietnamese paintings, and even a bamboo screen against the wall. The place certainly was no five-star fine dining. Lien Minh lured to the back passed a wall of old photographs to see a busy kitchen.

“You prep?” She asked him.

“I’m sorry?” Tom asked her confused by her question.

“You know prep?” Lien Minh asked again. “Know like cut vegetable and stuff?”

Tom finally began to comprehend her request. “Yeah, I know how to prep.”

“Good,” smiled Lien Minh. “Go wash hand, wear apron and cut vegetable.” She instructed. “I show you and learn.”

Tom shrugged, grabbed an apron, put it on, and washed his hands. Soon, he was chopping away on parsley and onions. Lien Minh watched him like a hawk. 

“No!” She shouted. “Onion, too small! Cut big. Customer like!”

The young man changed this technique as another cook took away his pile and began adding to the soups on the stove. Tom pointed to the boiling pots. “Are those stews?”

Lien Minh nodded. “Yeah. You learn later. First learn cut.” She dropped a batch of mint. “These for soup. Pull apart.” She inhaled the aroma. “Mint add good smell to soup.” She waved it in front of Tom’s face. The scene was quite lovely. The freshness of the vegetable gave it an appealing herbal quality. She retreated to the walk-in refrigerator to pull a bowl of bean sprouts. The pile of long, white root was placed in front of him. “Know how clean?”

“Are you asking me if I know how to prepare sprouts?” he questioned the older woman, trying to decipher her thick accent.

She nodded.

“Yes,” he answered. Grabbing a large colander, he dropped the sprouts inside the container, went to the sink to run through the water before returning to his station.  
Meticulously, he pulled part the long tail end of the root plant and transferred the cleaned sprouts into a new bowl nearby. Lien Minh appeared extremely impressed.

“You do good,” she complimented him. “Move on. Next vegetable.” She picked a long cucumber, carrots, a jalapeno, and a radish and ordered to slice it. “Make thin like toothpick. Important for dish.”

Unsure what she meant; Tom used careful precision to slice each of the vegetables. Once each one was slender enough to her liking, he waited as she pulled several bowls of different meats, a container of chopped parsley, and several bottles of liquid. Finally, she grabbed a French baguette and placed it on his station.  
“Take bowl and mix sauce.” She went through the ingredients as Tom followed her words exactly to a tee. “Quarter cup water. Half cup rice vinegar. Quarter cup white sugar. Put salt, pepper, garlic salt. Mix!” Tom furiously whisked the ingredients into a liquid. “This dressing.”

“For a salad?” Tom asked.

“No, something else.” She answered.

Directing him toward the stove, she grabbed a pot and poured the contents inside along with the sliced cucumbers, radish, carrots, and jalapenos. She boiled the liquid and allowed some time for the vegetables to marinade and create a pickling effect.

“Are we pickling?” He inquired.

“Yes.” Lien Minh responded. “You eat pickle vegetable?’

“I’ve made kimchi for Korean dishes.” Tom explained to her.

The older woman cocked her head. “Kimchi good. Korean good. But Vietnamese good too! You see!”

Pulling the baguette, she sliced the bread halfway through. Letting the pickling effect cool on the vegetables, she slathered regular mayonnaise on the bread as she placed the pickled items on the bottom while layering the top with a ham from one of the bowls. Adding parsley in between, she finished the sandwich as she continued making more sandwiches down the line with different meats from pork, chicken, beef, to barbecued proteins from meatballs to patties to the exotic varieties like headcheese and even sardines.  
“Try!” She ordered Tom eat one.

Slicing the sandwich in half, he took a bite. The splendor of flavors burst inside his mouth from the sourness of the pickled vegetables to the sweetness of the meat. Savory experiences danced across his tongue from the spice of the jalapeno to the tanginess of the dressing. Adding to the wonderous sensations was the toasted crunchiness of the bread. It was a perfect merging.

“Wow!” Tom exclaimed. “That was delicious! What do you call this?

“Bahn Mi!” Lien Minh declared. “It Vietnamese sandwich. Not American sandwich like hamburger, but better.” She disappeared into an office in the back and returned with an envelope. “This pay for today! You done good! See you this week?”

“Count on it!” Tom smiled, accepting the cash and giving her the thumbs up. This internship certain was going to be a pleasure.

“Before go,” said Lien Minh. “What you Nam’ name?”

“My Nam’ name?” He asked, unsure what she was requesting.

“Your Vietnam name,” she corrected.

“I don’t have one,” he answered. “My last name is Scott.”

Lien Minh shook her head. “No, you Bui Doi! You have American father! What name in Nam’?”

Tom attempted to answer her question but was unsure of what she was asking. Then it dawned on him concerning his middle name.

“Tam.” He said quietly.

“Tam Scott. Tam Scott. Tam Scott.” She repeated to herself. Lien Minh’s eyes widened as an almost small tear started to form in her eye. Stopping herself, she wiped her eye and looked at him. “I see you this week. You done good.” Retreated to her office, she shut the door behind her.

Before heading out, Tom looked at the wall of photographs plastered near the kitchen wall. Almost like a mosaic, he saw old pictures taken in Saigon during the Vietnam War. American soldiers stood in posed positions next to an exotic, beautiful woman dressed in a provocative tight dress or in a bikini. His eyes noticed one particular picture of the same woman in lingerie, a military jacket and cap.

“Like what you see?” 

Tom turned around to see the greasy, old man carrying a mop.

“No buy cigarettes?”

Tom shook his head. Something about his demeanor disgusted him.

“Your name Tam, huh?” The old man probed him.

“No, it’s Tom.” He answered. “Tom Scott.”

“No, it Tam.” The old man pushed. “You Bui-Doi. You have American father. I call you Tam.”

“And who are you?” Tom asked him, trying to avoid this conversation.

“Tran Van Dinh.” The old man replied. “Some call me Engineer.”

“Call yourself whatever you want,” the young man rolled his eyes. “Just stay out my way!” He threatened.

Tran Van Dinh cowardly crouched. “Okay, but you want to know lady? Her name Gigi Van Tranh.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Whatever. It’s none of my business.” He shoved the Engineer with his shoulder and exited the restaurant.


	2. Chapter 2: The Movie in My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tam is haunted by strange dreams connected to his childhood. Still, he has plenty to learn as he focuses on mastering the art of Vietnamese cuisine.

Tom’s Apartment  
Brooklyn, New York

[ ](https://postimg.cc/GTJJJL8Y)

The stale air filled his lungs. He smelled of dirt, sweat, and death. Hiding between the broken furniture he watched the man waving a knife at him. An evil glint shown in his eye. He came closer, waving the knife as the dark-haired woman behind him held something between her hands.

“YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY CHILD!” She screamed

The man smirked. “You don’t know how to kill!”

“I have no other choice!” The woman shouted back. “What I must do, I will!”

CRASH!

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Tom jumped up from the sofa bed. It was morning. Sitting on the mattress, he looked at Keisha still sleeping next to him. Switching his gaze, he noticed his mother sweeping something up in the kitchen.

“Sorry,” Ellen apologized. “I dropped a dish. I didn’t mean to wake you and Keisha up.” Grabbing the broom and dustpan, she swept up the broken dish. Her first week with him helped to improve her personality. The bruises began to fade, and the cuts started healing. She appeared in much better spirits this time.

Tom got out of bed to check up on her. After disposing the broken pieces in the trash, she pulled out a cup from the cupboard, turned off the stove and picked up the boiling tea kettle. She poured herself a cup of hot water and added a tea bag.

“You want some tea?” She asked her son.

[ ](https://postimages.org/)

“Sure,” Tom replied. Ellen grabbed another mug and made tea for him. He took a sip as he turned to her. “You know we have a microwave. You can heat water faster that way.”

“I know,” she smiled. “But I like the traditional way. Sometimes, those are the best.” Ellen glanced at her son with concern. “You still having nightmares? I thought you grew out of that.”

“So, did I,” he said, drinking his tea. “It comes and goes. Sudden loud noises still make me jumpy. I don’t know why. I was hoping that it was just a phase. I keep trying to pinpoint where it comes from. Do you have any idea?”

Ellen sipped her tea, avoiding her eyes away from him. “No clue.”

Tom took her word. He shrugged and continued drinking.

His mother shifted her focus to Keisha still asleep. “I’m surprised she didn’t hear that.”

“She’s a sound sleeper,” her son explained. “We joke that she could sleep through a natural disaster. Plus, she is exhausted from working almost all the graveyard shifts.”

“Why doesn’t she ask to switch her schedule?” Ellen asked.

“It pays more,” Tom answered. “None of the nurses want that hellish shift so the hospital gives an extra boost in pay, plus additional overtime. Her salary is helping to pay the bills.”

Ellen placed her hand on her son’s. “Look Tom, if you need some money while you finish culinary school…”

Tom held his mother’s hand. “It’s okay, Mom. We’re fine. I know my current kitchen job pays crap but once I become a sous-chef, I’ll be making enough to pull my own weight.

Keisha and I doing great. You should focus on you and take care of yourself.” He sighed. “Speaking of, do you have any idea what you’re going to do?”

His mother shook her head. “Not yet.”

“You know you could just leave.” Tom suggested. “Julie and I won’t fault you for it. You’ve done enough for that man.”

Ellen exhaled a breath. “I know. But twenty-two years of marriage is still plenty to think about. I invested a lot of time trying to love your father and help him deal with his PTSD. I thought I could change him, heal him, but I guess I wasn’t enough. Even with everything, I stayed. I did it for him, for you and Julie, and for the family. I still believe that things could get better. I guess I was mistaken.”

“You can’t help a man who doesn’t want to be helped, Mom.” Tom told his mother, echoing Keisha’s words.

His mother sipped her tea. “I still hold out hope.” She decided to change the subject. “How are things with your internship?”

“Good.” Tom said. “Really good. The owner, Lien Minh, has been generous with teaching the various styles of Vietnamese cooking. Did you know there is a rich history in Vietnam which influenced much of their food?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Ellen replied. “The country had centuries of turmoil. From the Chinese claiming the southern Asian territory with communist rule to the French colonizing in the early nineteenth century. Then the split between northern and southern Vietnam, which led to the civil war and later the Vietnam War that later unified the nation into one.”

“Wow!” Tom said impressed with her mother’s knowledge. “You know a lot about Vietnamese history.”

“Just the basics,” Ellen laughed. “Upon seeing how close our family was to Vietnam, I did some research to better understand it. It’s such a complicated history. I’m glad you’re getting back in touch with your culture, Tom. I think it’s commendable.”

“Me too, Mom.” Her son responded. “Me too.” Though he didn’t feel too sure himself.

“I’m going to use that bathroom to freshen up,” Ellen announced. “Hope the rest of your internship goes really well, son.” She kissed him on cheek and retreated down the hallway.

Just then, the wall phone rang, and he went to answer it. “Hello?”

“Tom!” The other caller greeted him. “Thank God! It’s Dad.” Tom rolled his eyes and started to push down the receiver. “Please, don’t hang up! I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that to your mother. I lost control!”

His son sighed as he listened to a desperate Chris Scott. He had a few choice words he wanted to say to his father. “Have you been drinking? I’m going to hang up now…”

“No wait!” Chris pleaded. “I’ve not touched a drink since I got out of jail. I wanted to make things right. I want to change. I do. I can’t get all those images from the war out of my head. They won’t go away! I need help, Tom! I need my family! I hate this person I’ve become. I want to do better. I can’t lose your mom or Julie or you. Especially you! You’re my son, my only son! Please, let me know where your mother is so I can talk to her and make things right. I know I can do this! I know I can beat this!”

Tom inhaled. “I’m sorry, Dad. Mom doesn’t want to see you right now. If you genuinely want your family back, you need to start getting help on your own. Prove that you’re worth forgiving and maybe we can patch this family back up. We tired, Dad. We’re tired of fighting for you to get help. We’re tired of all the drinking. It all depends on you. I’m going to hang up now, Dad. Please stop calling me.”

“Tom wait…”

He hung up the phone, let out a few tears, and regained his composure. He was not going to let his father get to him.

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The Great Sacred Bird  
Little Saigon, New York

“You do good, Tam!” Lien Minh exclaimed. “Your cha gio crispy and delicious!” The older woman referred to the Vietnamese version of a fried egg roll that she taught him.

Seasoned with ground minced meats, mushroom, jicama, vegetables, noodles and wrapped in rice paper, the rolls were deep fried until golden brown and crisped to perfection. Cha gio was usually served as an appetizer, wrapped in a large romaine lettuce leaf and dipped in various condiments from a sweet chili sauce or fish sauce.

As with southeast Asian cuisine, fish sauce is a common ingredient among many countries from China, Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia, and even Vietnam. The umami flavor of fermented krill added that extra bite of salt and seasoning to soup broths as well as a flavorful condiment for many different varieties and entrees. Though quite pungent, it becomes an acquired taste but for those have adapted to this seaworthy palate can enjoy its heavenly addition to the food.

“Now I teach goi cuon,” Lien Minh instructed. “It same but different. No fry.” She placed the transparent rice paper on the counter dipped into hot water to dissolve the wrapper between adding shrimp, vegetables, and noodles. Then she wrapped it up perfectly while she set a small bowl of peanut sauce in front of him. “Now try.”

Tom took the spring roll, dipped in the peanut sauce, and took a bite. Once again, the flavors danced inside his mouth. The combination of the cold vegetables mixed with the fishiness of the prawn cushioned in the noodles and rice paper felt divine. Adding to the flavor profile was the peanut sauce that gave the sweetness and savory addition that the spring roll needed.

[ ](https://postimages.org/)

“This is amazing!” He said, complimenting her food.

“Thank you,” she laughed. “See, you like Vietnamese food. Better than Korean?” She challenged.

“Both are good,” smiled Tom. “Let’s be fair.”

“Okay fair,” she smiled back. “Now we take break before…” A large crash came around the corner of the kitchen. Tom flinched, looking pale, as Lien Minh noticed him worried. “You okay, honey?”

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Loud noises make me jumpy.”

They looked to see the old man, Tran Van Dinh, knocking and dropping metal bowls and pots on the kitchen shelf.

Lien Minh shouted to him in Vietnamese, then switching to English. “Engineer! Clean that up! You make mess! Now!”

Meekly, the man calling himself the Engineer nodded, grumbled and began reorganizing the shelf.

“Why do you put up with him?” Tom asked. “He’s not a good employee.”

She sighed. “Can’t fire. He like family I only got. We take care each other.” Lien Minh, then asked him directly what was troubling her. “Why you no like loud noise?”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve always been startled by loud noises since I was kid. I’m thinking it’s because something bad happened in my childhood that I’ve blocked out and don’t want to remember. Maybe that’s why I get easily startled by sudden noises.”

Lien Minh covered her hands on top of Tom’s. “We all have memories want to forget. The war was bad. Many people died. Seen many deaths. Came to America make better life. Happy now.”

“Is that why you have all those pictures of soldiers on your wall?” Tom asked her. Realizing his mistake, he tried to make amends for his question. “I’m sorry. That was too personal. It’s none of my business.”

The older woman sighed. No. I tell you truth. I have no shame. Yes, pictures of soldiers were my boyfriends and customers.”

“Customers?” Tom’s eyes widened.

“Yes,” said Lien Minh bluntly. “I was…how you say in America? Stripper, hooker. I was bargirl in Saigon. Won bargirl contest many time called Miss Saigon. All soldier come to me.”

“Is that when you called yourself Gigi Van Tranh?” He asked. Her mouth dropped. Tom explained and pointed to Tran. “The Engineer told me.”

[ ](https://postimages.org/)

Angrily, she turned around and threw a dish rag at the old man. “Tran! Mind business! Go clean toilet! It dirty!”

Tran Van Tranh rolled his eyes, mumbled something and grabbed the mop and bucket and exited the kitchen. Lien Minh returned to the conversation with Tom.

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “Gigi Van Trahn, my stage name. My real name Lien Minh Ngoc Du. I dance, took off clothes, did sex thing with men for money. I survive. It what I had to do. It what we ALL had to do. Waited for soldier to marry and take me to America. Never came. I got too old. Finally, met American. Officer in navy, Colonel Mark Wilson. He marry me, took me to America. We happy and he help me open The Great Sacred Bird. We could not have kids but help me build business. Sad, he died of stroke five year ago. I miss him very much.” Tears started filling her eyes.

Still holding her hands, Tom squeezed her fingers. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. That is all in the past. You’re a different person now. You made found success in America as you all always wanted and even found a good man to marry. Be grateful for that.”

“Thank you, Tam,” Lien Minh said, wiping her yes. “You sweet. You family taught you well. Were you happy with American father?”

“I guess,” Tom responded, looking for the positive. “I mean I love my mother and sister. My relationship with my Dad is difficult but he tried. Thank God, my mother loved and supported us when he couldn’t.”

“That important,” Lien Minh advised. “A mother love their child, no matter what.”

“Lien Minh?” He addressed her.

“Please call me Auntie Gigi,” the older woman smiled. “We close now. You know my story. You talk to me. No secret.”

“Okay, Auntie Gigi,” Tom smiled. “I have a question why did you refer to me as a bui doi when we first met?”

“Bui doi mean dust of life.” She stated. “War orphan. Street kids born in Vietnam. Born from American soldier who left mother.”

“But my mother died in childbirth, having me,” he informed her. “My Dad married my mom before she died.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “But you still half American. That make you a bui doi. You lucky. American father wanted you. Many don’t. Leave behind in Vietnam. See many with dirty face, blond hair, blue or green eye. Left to beg and starve on street.”

Tom scratched his head. “I think that this is the nonprofit organization that my Uncle John works in.”

“Uncle John?” The older woman questioned him.

“John Tomas,” he told her. “He’s a former G. I. and friend of my Dad’s. He works with this group that reunites lost children of the Vietnam War with their American fathers.”

His new Auntie Gigi’s mind raced. “John Tomas. I know him. He in Saigon too. Nice Marine. One of my customer. Paid me lots of money.”

Tom cringed. The thought of his family friend paying for a prostitute was too much information. However, he had to realize that it was a different time back then; everyone, has a past.

“Okay, enough talk of past,” she announced. “We go back to training.”

For next two weeks, Tom immersed himself in Vietnamese cuisine. He learned about bun thit nuong, a rice-vermicelli noodle dish that closely resembled a deconstructed version of goi cuon. Depending on the protein used, fresh salad was added along with fresh herbs like basil and mint, also included were pickled carrots and garnished with peanuts. Fish sauce was dressed in the plate along with a deep-fried spring roll or sausage was added to the dish to complete it.

Like the goi cuon, the freshness of the salad gave it a delicious crispiness while the noodles and herbs, especially mint, basil, and pickled carrots provided that extra zest in the meal. The crunch of the peanut garnish gave it nice textural feel while the seasoned meat added with the fish sauce connected all the flavors together. In short, it was exquisite.

The next thing Lien Minh taught him was a specialty crepe pancake called bahn xeo. More like an omelet than a sweet dessert, the egg mixture incorporated vegetables, particularly bean sprouts, minced meats and shrimp, and seasoned with fresh herbs. Commonly sold as street food, bahn xeo was influenced by ancient Asian influences as well as the French during the Indochina Period, when France occupied the country. Like the French baguettes for the popular bahn mi sandwiches, the French crepe possibly influenced the look and texture of the Vietnamese omelet.

[ ](https://postimages.org/)

Crispy around area, the crunchiness of the vegetables contained inside made it such a filling meal. Like a meat pie, the various minced protein added that tastiness to a common street food unknown to most Westerners. Tom sliced into his crepe and enjoyed the wonderful textures and flavors from this specific dish.

Wiping his mouth, he turned to congratulate Lien Minh. “So far, everything you’ve taught me has been amazing, Auntie Gigi.”

“Thank you, Tam.” The older woman smiled. “That is what Vietnamese food is. Ying and yang?”

“Ying and yang?” Tom asked puzzled.

“Vietnam Buddhist before Christianity came,” she informed him. “I practice Christianity and accept God when came to America, but I still do Buddhist prayer for spiritual body.” She continued. “The five element of food, cold for water, hot for fire, warm for wood, fresh for metal, and temperate for earth. We say han, nhiet, on hoa, lu’ong, binh. Ingredients and side dish important. Thing like ginger or cabbage help with digestion or when have cold. Balance out yang so that ying don’t drop. Don’t want to get sick or bad stomach problem when ying is down.”

“I see, you need the ingredients to balance so that the ying and yang are balanced also.” Tom concluded.

“Yes, Tam.” She nodded. “And Vietnam had many area learn Buddhism. It gave us different kind of vegetable, noodle, and fish sauce. Change way of cooking. That why each area different with dish.”

“I can see why,” he included. “With the different invasions to the country and religious influences, you’re bound to adapt new ingredients into daily food. This accounts for all the unique blends of exotic seasonings and spices.”

“Exactly,” said Lien Minh.

“Is that also why you named your restaurant The Great Sacred Bird?” He asked her.

She shook her head. “No. Many come from small village. We have superstition. Believe in ghost like chuyen ma, the unicorn saola and the phoenix or phuong. The phoenix sacred animal. Mean to bring good luck and happiness. That is why I name restaurant The Great Sacred Bird!”

“Clever,” Tom noted.

She turned away from him for a bit to grab two potholders. Heading to the stove, she grabbed a boiling pot of soup and placed it on a hot pot pad.  
“Tam, this very important.” Lien Minh said to him. “This most popular dish of Vietnam. It called pho.”

Pho is perhaps one of the most recognizable Vietnamese dishes among the community. A soup consisting of a broth that had been boiled from the meat and marrow overnight, the fat was removed providing a delicious liquid that formed the base of the meal. Various meats were added, the most common being beef or chicken, as rice noodles made the main component of the dish. Garnish like sprouts and mint were added, making it such a succulent and filling soup to consume.

[ ](https://postimages.org/)

Proficient with his chopsticks, Tom slurped up the noodles and flank steak that Auntie Gigi included in his bowl and enjoyed the richness of the hot liquid hitting his throat. The tenderness of the meat combined with the fresh herbs certainly experienced helped the ying inside of him as his yang responded the healing essence of such a sumptuous meal.

“My God, Auntie Gigi, this is incredible!” He took her by surprise. “I didn’t realize how amazing this soup tasted!”

Auntie Gigi laughed. “See, you speak like true Nam’! Soon I teach you language!”

“Maybe,” Tom giggled.

He heard the splashing of the water against the boat. Everyone crowed in. People standing. People sitting. Mothers and fathers cradling their children. Everyone wore dirty rags, carrying what they could in blankets and ripped market bags.

The dark-haired woman held him close, singing a song as the boat bobbed up and down. Next to him, an older woman with kind dark eyes stroked his hair, telling him that everything will be okay.

A pop is heard in the distance, then another. People scream. It startles the boy.

A greasy, older man covers him with his body as the boy starts to cry.

“Protect the boy!” He says.

The pops stop coming. The greasy man looks at the boy and smiles, caressing his cheek as he speaks.

“Now, now,” he says. “Don’t cry. Uncle Ho has you.” He carries him out of the other woman’s arms and holds him tight, whispering that everything will be okay. He tells him stories of how wonderful this place called America will be.

The boy falls asleep as he listens to the sea nearby.

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Tom woke up just in time to make his subway stop. Getting off at the station, he took the escalator up to the street that led him home.

Tom’s Apartment  
Brooklyn, New York

It was late when he arrived at his apartment. Finding the place dark, he turned on the lights.

“Keisha? Mom?” Tom called out. No answer. He took off his jacket and crossed to the kitchen counter to see a note left for him.

Taking your mom to see Les Miz. Be back late.  
-Keisha

He opened the fridge to see a gross display of old leftovers. Disgusted, he dumped the contents in the trash as he pulled out plastic bag of spring rolls that he made from The Great Sacred Bird. Thank goodness, he brought home dinner.

A blinking message on the answering machine caught his attention. He pressed the button.

“Tom!” said the voice. It was his father and he sounded inebriated. Ready to erase the message, he decided to listen. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, but all I can say I’m sorry. I mess things up! I can never get our family back! I realize that now! I don’t deserve a family!”

The message ended before the machine announced that he had three messages waiting. Tom hesitated. What the hell, Dad? He decided to listen to all the messages and played them all the way through.

“Tom!” Chris Scott’s voice wavered. “I don’t deserve to be a father! I couldn’t be there for you and your mom and Julie! I tried so hard to be a loving husband and a father! I just couldn’t do it! The war did this me! We were fighting for something that I didn’t understand! None of us did! We were soldiers and we killed and we died! Oh God, the things that I’ve seen, Tom! Bodies blown up! Torn apart! Shot down! Maimed! Women and children murdered by the Vietcong and by us! I can’t get them out my head!”

[](https://postimg.cc/tsYbfYqX)

Like the previous, the message ended there. Tom sighed. Did he want to listen to more? He pushed for the third message. This time, he could hear his father sobbing.

“I don’t know what you want from me…Tom. I tried hard to be that father you wanted. I couldn’t do it. I keep sinking. I keep reminding myself that I failed your mother in so may ways…No, not Ellen. Your birth mom, Kim. I left her, Tom! I left her! I wanted to save and protect her! Christ, I’m an American! How did I fail to do good? I let her die…Tom!”

The message ended. Confused and worried, Tom reluctantly pressed for the last message.

“Tam…my brave son. She named you while I abandoned her…I remember how beautiful she was, smelling of orange trees. I was sunlight…and she was moonlight…blessed she and I. She died in my arms, sacrificing herself for you…I was a coward.” Chris’s words completely slurred into something incoherent. “She calls to me, like a song on a solo saxophone…it’s the last night of the world. I’m coming Kim…forgive me, Tam…”

“Dad?” Tom stuttered, concerned by the long sound of air. He grew nervous as he heard a sudden pop in the background. He soon panicked. “Oh God, Dad!” He switched off the answering machine and frantically dialed the home phone back in Atlanta. Only a busy dial tone echoed on the line. Pulling out the phone directory, he dialed someone even closer. The person on the other end finally answered.

“Uncle John!” His voice whimpered, feeling the tears coming through. “It’s Dad! I think he’s done something drastic!”


	3. Chapter 3: The Great Sacred Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with a family tragedy, Tom tries to find peace with his past and his culture. Discovering family secrets, he finally gets the closure he needs.

Atlanta, Georgia

Sergeant Christopher Scott’s funeral was held one week later. The police report stated that the cause of death was suicide via a rifle shot to the temple. Family and close friends attended the ceremony, along with Keisha who accompanied Tom, Julie and their mother, Ellen. Their family friend, John Thomas, also was in attendance as they paid their final respects and lowered his casket.

“How are you holding up?” John asked Ellen, who managed to keep it together.

“Some days are better than others,” she replied sadly, fighting back the tears. She hugged John and thanked him. “You have our sincerest gratitude for calling the police after Tom called you. We can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t mention it, Ellen.” John replied. “I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. I don’t blame you guys for staying away from him. He was determined to end his life sooner or later.”

Ellen agreed. “I tried, John.” Her tears started falling. “I tried to get be there for him, but he didn’t want the help.”

John embraced her again. “Don’t blame yourself, Ellen. You’re a good woman and a good mother. You did everything you possibly good. Chris gave in to his demons and there was no chance of him coming back.”

She inhaled. “How come you’re not affected by them? What made you stronger than him?”

John looked down. Every day is a battle for me, but I chose to get help. I went to therapy for my PTSD, took my meds, went to support groups. I served the Vietnamese community to become a better person. I knew my life was important enough to live. Chris didn’t and that is his cross to bear, not yours or the rest of the kids.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, John. You’re a dear friend.”

Seeing Tom across the way, John waved to him and went to see him. Keisha and Julie decided to give the two men some privacy. He hugged Chris’s son and tried off him some comfort.

“Hey, Uncle John.” Tom greeted him. “Thank you for everything.”

“Sure,” the former G. I. smiled. “I know you’re already getting plenty of this but my condolence.” He quickly shifted to another topic. “I heard you’re in culinary school now.”

Tom nodded. “I am. I’m training in Vietnamese cuisine. I guess I’m going back to my roots. In fact, the woman training me, you might know her. Gigi Van Trahn?”

John’s eyes widened. “Gigi? How is she?”

Tom smiled. “Older now like you. She runs a popular eatery called The Great Sacred Bird.”

John cocked his eyebrows. “You do know what she used to do?”

“A bargirl in Saigon?” The young man answered directly. “Yeah. But you can’t judge someone by their past. She’s done well for herself.” He laughed. “She has me call her Auntie Gigi and she takes care of this really disgusting old man who likes to be called the Engineer.”

“The Engineer?” The veteran’s mouth dropped. “He’s lives here too?”

Tilting his head in suspicion, Tom probed the man. “You know this guy?”

John signed and nodded. “Look, it’s not my place but Gigi and the Engineer were friends of your mother.”

“Ellen Scott?”

“No, Tom.” John shook his head. “Your birth mother, Kim. Again, it’s time you ask about your biological mother to Ellen. It’s time to stop with the secrets and move on!”

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The dingy place looked dirty and smelled of too much smoke. But he did like watching the flashing lights. They were always pretty to look at.

The dark-haired woman carries him up the stairs to another room, not as pretty as the flashing lights, but he loved sleeping next to her in the soft mattress that they shared. She always smelled nice like orange trees.

“Now, Tam,” she said to him. “My brave boy. One more kiss and then we say goodbye.”

She dressed him in new clothes and put a cap on him. It looked nicer than the rags he normally wore. She sat him on the bed while she smiled and disappeared behind a curtain.  
Then a loud bang. It scares him and he cries.

People run into the room. A man, a woman, and another man. None of them look like him. Uncle Ho grabs him and soothes his tears and as his exotic companion rubs his head, shielding him from something.

It’s too late. He sees.

The dark-haired woman lies unmoving as a man carries her in his arms crying.

The boy cries out to her.

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“Mama!’

Tom jolts out of bed. It’s two o’clock in the morning and Keisha is sound asleep in his old bedroom. He kisses her forehead, gets up, and heads out to the kitchen.

The lights are on as his mother sits at the dining table sipping a cup of tea in her hand.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she says worried.

He shakes his head. He takes a seat next to her. 

“Any ideas of what you want to do with the house?” Tom asks her.

“Sell it, I suppose.” She answers. “There’s too many bad memories here.”

“You know, Mom,” he began. “Keisha and I have been talking and you’re welcome to live with us in New York. We can find a nice place together in Brooklyn.”

She set her cup down. “That’s sweet, son, but you two need your space. I’ve been talking with Julie and we’ve decided to move to California together. I can be close to your sister while she goes to school there and my connections can help me find an accounting job real fast. Plus, the sunshine and beach air will do me some good as a change of scenery.”

“That’s great, Mom.” Tom smiled. He sighed.

Sensing something bothering him, Ellen probed him for answers. “Spill it. Something is on your mind. Tell me.”

“Mom, it’s not important.”

“Don’t lie, Thomas.” She replied. “I’m your mother. I can tell when something is bothering my children.”

He finally confessed. “It’s something that Uncle John said. He said it’s time I knew the truth about my biological mother, Kim.”

Ellen’s eyes widened. She inhaled a breath and clutched her teacup harder. “I knew this day would come. I want you to know that I wanted to tell you the truth, but your father forbade me because it brought out too many bad memories for him.”

He touched her hand. “I think it’s time I know what really happened to my birth mother, please.”

She inhaled. “Your mother didn’t die in childbirth as we had told you. We softened the blow so that you would never be burdened with the truth. Your father was stationed in Saigon during the last few days before we pulled out our troops. He met your mother, Kim, at seedy bar where she was working as a bargirl there. They fell in love, got married, and that is when things went wrong.”

Tom gulped but remained calm. “What went wrong?”

[ ](https://postimages.org/)

“The fall of Saigon,” his mother explained. During the chaos and the storming of the embassy, Chris and your mother got separated. The only identification she had was his gun that he left for her; they wouldn’t let her through the gates. The copters left and Chris felt guilty about it ever since.”

“Then what happened?” Her son probed her for more answers.

“Three years had passed. Believing your mother had passed, Chris and I met and got married. Seeing how his marriage to your mother had never been legalized, he had moved on with his life. Sadly, he never told me about his past in Vietnam. Then your Uncle John, who was working for an organization to reunite American fathers with their children, informed us that Kim was very much alive and had a son, you! That is when your father confessed everything to me.”

“Weren’t you upset that he had another family?”

“Of course, I was,” Ellen admitted. “What woman wouldn’t, but I loved your father enough to search for her and you. We learned that she had escaped to Bangkok and supported herself by working as a bargirl there. When Kim learned that her husband had remarried, she panicked and privately begged me to take you to America. She hoped we could provide a better life for you than she could.”

Tears began to fill her eyes. Tom held her hand for reassurance.

“Understand, I was confused at the time,” she told him. “Another woman giving away her own child to a stranger. I didn’t have time to process it all and I refused. Left with no other choice, she told your father and I and John, who was with us, to meet her at the bar she was working at. We heard a gunshot in her room and found her body on the floor while you were crying on the bed.”

Her face streaked with tears recalling every painful moment. Her put her head down.

“You were so helpless calling out for your mother! You opened your arms to me and the moment I held you, I knew I could never let you go! You were mine, Tom! Not by birth but a maternal connection that only a mother understands! I held you, loved you and comforted you! And by damn, I would die for you because you are my son, and no one can tell me otherwise!”

“I know, Mom,” he whispered to her. He picked her up and drew her into his arms, while she sobbed into his shoulder. “I love you. This Kim person brought me to you for a reason. She brought me you, and Julie and Dad. I’m proud to be your son. Nothing is going to change that.”

Ellen lifted her face, sniffed, and embraced him even tighter. “I’ll always be your mother, Tam!”

Tom laughed. “Who else would you be?” He kissed her cheek. “And please, let’s stick to Tom.”

His mother giggled, wiped her eyes, and went into kitchen cupboard. “Tea?”

“Sure, Mom,” he said proudly. “I’d loved a cup."

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The Great Sacred Bird  
Little Saigon

Tom contacted Auntie Gigi to speak with her private. She offered to meet with him afterhours when the restaurant closed at nine. Taking the subway there, he arrived at the eatery and knocked on the door that had been turned with a closed sign.

Tran opened it to let him in. The young man noticed a strange change in the old man. He almost seemed polite and well-mannered. The empty floor looked bizarre at night with no customers, but most restaurants do after they close. Pointing to an empty booth, Tom met Auntie Gigi as she sat inside the empty station with an old cardboard box on the table.

She grabbed his hands as he took a seat. “I’m sorry about father. It very sad.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

“I know reason you here.” She told the young man. “You know that we friend with mother.”

Tom nodded. “I want to know everything. Please don’t spare me the details. I need to know the truth.”

Auntie Gigi sighed. She opened the lid of the box to reveal a dirty rag and faded photograph of a woman in a traditional Vietnamese wedding dress standing next to his father. She looked young, beautiful and innocent.

“Her real name Anh Kim Nguyen.” She explained. “American call her Kim. She born in west province of country. Her parent killed when Vietcong bomb village. No place to go, she go see Engineer.” She pointed to Tran in the corner who looked sad listening to her story. “Tran offer her job as dancer like me at bar called Dreamland. I don’t like her at first because she new girl and I am jealous. But she sweet and kind and we become friend.”

She pointed to the picture of his father.

“Your father, Chris Scott, marry her. We go to ceremony. They separated when American leave and she pregnant with you. I help hide her and you from Vietcong. She have baby and I deliver you.” She took out the dirty rag. “This what we wrap you with. Your blanket. We carry you in it. You so beautiful. She name you Tam. You sometime sleep in my arm and you laugh and smile at me. You so cute! Then evil man who work for Vietcong want to marry Kim. She no like to marry him. He try to kill you but Kim shoot him with your father gun. I watch from window.”

Tom’s brain starts jumbling with memories. He was in the room when his mother shot this person. He witnessed it!

[ ](https://postimages.org/)

“We run away with help of Engineer. We go by boat to America. You call Tran, Uncle Ho. You so cute! Boat trip dangerous. Many people shot by Vietcong or pirate who want to steal. We make it but not America. It Bangkok. We work in bar, while Engineer be our pimp again. Kim work as bargirl but I’m too old so I cook, clean and I work as bartender. Your father come and claim you but won’t take Kim because he have new wife now. Kim sad and shoot herself with father gun. You cry and Uncle Ho and I comfort you. But you go with father and new mother to better life.”

Suddenly, it all started to make sense why loud noises scared him. He had seen his mother murder a man to protect him, heard gunshots on the water while escaping on boat, and witnessed his mother commit suicide. The trauma of that still haunts him. Like his father, his PTSD was something he also inherited. However, unlike his father he would not let that ruin his life. He would seek help for it.

Auntie Gigi rummaged through the box to pull out an old envelope. “This Kim also. I was scared that your father and new mother might throw away. I kept it hidden. Kim last letter to you!”

Tom took the envelope and pulled it out the letter. He handed it back to the older woman. “I’m sorry, it’s written in Vietnamese.”

Auntie Gigi nodded. “I’ll try read as best I can.”

Tam,

My brave boy. Out long wait has ended. Smile Tam, for you have a father at last. He has come to take you home. All I dream for you, he’ll do. You’re still mine, but I can’t go along. Don’t be sad. Even though I’m far way, I’ll be watching you.

Spirits know when to fly when it’s time. There is no reason to mourn, for the great sacred bird is reborn. From the ashes, he’ll rise and on his wide wings, I’ll watch you from up above. I’ll will never be far but, my son, it is your turn to know your father’s love. I know now why I came to this earth, so you can find your place. But for that, I must leave your embrace.

You will be with your father now. Give all your love to him when I am gone. Take one last look at me. Don’t forget what you see. For now, you must move on.  
You will be who you want to be. You can choose whatever heaven grants. As long as you, can have your chance, I swear I’ll give my life for you.  
No one will stop what I must do. My son, I give my life for you.

-Kim

A streak fell from Tom’s face. He went over and hugged Auntie Gigi and kissed her on the head. “Thank you doing that. And thank you for saving me.”

The older woman cried too touching his arm. “You look like her. You have Kim eye and kindness and sweetness in face. You go live American dream like she want. You be that chef!”

“I will, Auntie.” He grinned. “Thanks for everything.” Before he went, he marched to Tran who started to cry from Kim’s letter. To the old man’s surprise, Tom put his arms around him and hugged him. The Engineer sobbed. “Thank you, Uncle Ho, for protecting me and keeping me safe.”

Tran sniffed. “You remember?”

“Of course,” Tom smiled. “How could I ever forget?”

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Asian Culinary Arts Institute

A month later…

Chef Wan savored the pho soup, enjoying the boiled meat broth that complimented well with the tendon and flank steak mixed with rice noodles. The extra touch of sprouts, herbs and mint really made a very hearty meal.

“Excellent work,” he nodded to Tom. “I especially liked the layered banh da lon surprise cake you made. The use of steaming tapioca starch, mung beans, taro, rice flour and coconut milk added an additional touch to your dessert that was just exquisite.”

“Thank you, chef,” Tom replied, proud of himself. Now it was all up to Chef Wan to decide who was going to be awarded the sous-chef position at one of his restaurants.

Chef Wan tasted everyone’s dishes and then turned to his students. “I am now going to take thirty minutes to deliberate and come back with the final results.” He exited the room as the students began to nervously chat amongst themselves.

“What do you have to worry about, Tom?” Eva Salonga rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows you’re a shoo-in.”

“I don’t know about that,” Tom replied to his classmate. “You made some excellent Thai curries and your pad thai looks incredible.”

“Don’t be modest, Tom,” said his other classmate, Simon Pryce. “That egg omelet thing you made I’m sure is delicious, not to mention those spring rolls.”

“It’s anyone’s game at this point,” said Tom, unsure if he would be chosen. Secretly, he hoped it was him.

Half an hour later, Chef Wan returned to the classroom.

“I’ve made my decision,” the instructor began. “And I’m going to change my original plan. I’m not only to going to need one sous-chef but two for my restaurant in Greenwich Village.”

All students started to murmur in excitement. The odds of winning the coveted position just increased.

“The two chefs that I’ve chosen represent dishes that I think will go well at this location.” He declared. “The winners are...”

“Simon Pryce and Eva Salonga!”

Tom’s heart sank. He really hoped it would be him. Putting on a brave face, he applauded his classmates who hugged each other in excitement. However, Chef Wan raised his hand to say something else.

“I want to give an honorable mention,” Chef Wan stated. “This particular person had a rough start and possessed the techniques necessary to cook and prepare Asian cuisine but there was no heart to his cooking. No soul. But that all changed today when I tasted such fine, exquisite Vietnamese cuisine that appeared to be made from love. That is why I’m asking him to work under one of my executive chefs, as the new sous-chef to my eleventh restaurant soon to be opened in Brooklyn. Please acknowledge my new sous-chef…”

“Thomas Scott!”

Tom’s mouth dropped. He looked at his instructor. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, Chef Scott.” Chef Wan laughed. “I’m dead serious! You’re opening my next one in Brooklyn!”

The young man leaped into air with joy.

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Asian-Wan Restaurant  
Brooklyn, New York

Three months later…

The private opening of the restaurant was packed. Between the students of the Asian Culinary Arts Institute and their guests and Tom’s own family and friends, the young man was racing around trying to ensure everyone was taken care of.

[ ](https://postimg.cc/qgqchwqj)

“This pho soup is amazing, honey!” His mom Ellen complimented her son. She looked radiant. Getting some sun in California with his sister, Julie, really helped with her complexion.

“I’m more addicted to these spring rolls,” said his sister munching on her appetizers. “You should make these for me next time you visit.”

“Will do,” he winked at her. He turned to his girlfriend. “How are you liking the food?”

“Delicious as always, babe,” Keisha laughed as she kissed him. “Now get back to work, you’re busy!”

“Yes, mam,” he saluted.

He crossed over the booth where his Uncle John, Auntie Gigi and Uncle Ho, aka Tran, aka the Engineer, were seated exchanging fond memories. To no one’s surprise, the Engineer decided to wear a loud suit to the soiree.

“How are you all doing?”

“Good, Tam,” laughed Auntie Gigi sipping on her champagne. “Your banh xeo crispy better than mine!”

“No one’s banh xeo is better than yours!” He teased.

“I can vouch for that!” He winked at Lien Minh.

Auntie Gigi slapped his arm. “You fresh! You might get some tonight!”

Tom frowned in embarrassment. “Auntie Gigi!”

“What?” She rolled her eyes. “You take girl out bar but no take bar out girl! I’m still wild and single!”

“So am I!” Uncle John laughed.

Tran picked up his beer bottle. “Let’s have a toast!” He gave Tom his water glass. “Tam, you toast with us!”

“Okay, okay!” He relented. He raised his water glass as everyone raised up their wine glasses and bottles. “To Auntie Gigi, she taught me everything about being proud to be Nam’ as well as how to cook delicious Vietnamese food! To the real Miss Saigon!”

“To Miss Saigon!” They yelled in unison as they clinked glasses.

Tom left them behind to enjoy their evening as Chef Wan shook his hand to congratulate him.

“Excellent event, Chef Scott,” he grinned. “You’re going to do so well here.”

“Thank you, Chef Wan.” He said his teacher, now employer. “Would it be okay if I take a five? I need to discuss something with my girlfriend.”

“Sure, bud,” Chef Wan agreed. “Take fifteen.”

“Thanks.”

Tom made his way to where Keisha was sitting and tapped her on the shoulder. “Could I see you outside?”

Confused, she followed him out the door.

The evening was pleasant as stars appeared in the cleat sky. Keisha met Tom right on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.

“Are you okay?” She asked him, concerning something awful had happened.

“Of course, I am,” he smiled. He touched her hands with his. “Keisha, this entire journey of knowing who I am and where I came from finally gave me the closure I needed. I’m American, yes. But I’m also Vietnamese from my birth mother’s side. And she sacrificed a lot to make sure I got to fulfill my dreams. She dared to love a man who could never reconcile his demons. I don’t want that for us.”

Keisha looked Tom with worry. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I inherited those demons, Keisha.” He admitted. “I also suffer from PTSD, maybe not as severe as my father’s or Uncle John’s, but I’m a war orphan. I’ve witnessed things that no child should have to see. I’ve carried this trauma all my life and that is why loud noises scare me. I’ve suppressed it and I’m scared that I’ll turn out like my father if I don’t get a handle on it. I need help!”

She hugged him. “Thank you, babe,” she whispered. “You’re not anything like your father. You acknowledge you have a problem and you are seeking help. That’s the first step.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is this.” He got down on one knee in front of her. She gasped. “Keisha Davis, I love you with all my heart and ever fiber of my being. I want to marry you. But I don’t want to go into a marriage when you have a husband who is crippled by some sort of mental illness. I want to have children with you and be a good father, but not at the expense of hurting you or our family. So, what I’m asking is that are you willing to wait for me while we figure this thing out together?”

“Yes!” Keisha cried. “The answer is yes! I love you, Tom, and I will wait and weather this storm with you!” She wiped her tears away. “I don’t care how long but we will get through this together. I know therapists and PTSD groups.” She wrapped her arms around him. “We can do this, Thomas!”

Their lips met, embracing each other in assurance of their future. No expectations, just plain love, compassion and support.

Thomas “Tam” Scott glanced into the night sky as he saw something bright flying overhead.

“Tom, what is it?” His girlfriend asked, noticing his eyes drifting into a sense of wonder.

“Probably nothing,” he smiled down at her. “Thought I saw a fiery bird in the sky. I must be dreaming.”

They both laughed as they went back inside.

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The phoenix rose from the ashes. Carrying him across the pain and torment of his fallen brothers, he saw the peace that laid ahead. He watched and saw her. His beloved wearing the white ao dai dress when he first saw her.

He called out to her. “KIM!”

She extended her arms out to him and ran toward him. “Oh Chris, I still believe…”

How in one night had they come so far?

[](https://postimages.org/)

THE END


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